My Story
by HomemadeMagic
Summary: An in depth look at a minor character, hypothesizing on Petunia and the way she sees herself. PreOotP. Short. Is in dire need of revision.


Hello. My name is Petunia. Petunia Dursley. Now I know you're thinking, 'oh it's that stupid loser that's mean to Harry, she's such an evil bitch blah blah blah.' Trust me, I get that a lot. But no one ever stops to think of _my_ side of the story! So now I'm going to tell it to you. And pay attention. You might learn something.

There isn't a time I can remember when I didn't know Lily. She's been there, ruining my life ever since I was three years old. Obviously, Lily was born when I was three. As soon as she was, everyone forgot who I was. Everywhere we went, all I ever heard was "oh look at the cute little baby!! Isn't she a doll?" No one ever said anything about _me_.

But when I told my parents about it, they just laughed and told me it was just a phase, it would stop when she grew a little. Stop! Ha! It got worse. Everywhere we went, everyone had to make a comment about the cute little girl with red hair and green eyes (how I hated those eyes!), totally ignoring her older sister with her ugly, stringy blonde hair.

When we went to school, it didn't get any better. Lily wasn't really REALLY popular, she was just perfect. She had a lot of friends, no one hated her like they did me, and her grades were always perfect. Always. Don't get the wrong idea; my grades were okay, too, and I did have friends, but there was this huge group of boys that always tripped me up and pulled my hair and stole my paper and were otherwise completely nasty to me. No one ever did that to Lily. 

The first (and last) time someone tried, Lily yelled at them to shut up, and they did. Their mouth disappeared. I thought it was creepy; some people thought it was cool. But they all left her alone after that. I had no friends because of her. Since Lily was abnormal, her older sister must be, too. My own friends found out about her and avoided me. I was alone.

Her whole life was like that, but she never got in trouble. Never. My parents were _proud_ of her! Proud of her for "standing up to bullies," or at least that's what they called it. I called it being a freak. I still do.

I'm not saying I never liked my sister. We used to have long talks at night when we were little, mostly about fairy tales and what it would be like to have magic. I thought magic was pretty cool. It was my secret hope and dream that there was really magic somewhere in the world, and all you had to do was look and you would find it. Lily said that was crazy, but sometimes I almost believed it.

It confused me for a while why she always said I was crazy when I said things like that about magic. Then it hit me; she didn't want to get her hopes up. Lily was like that. Secretly, I think, she wanted it. Badly. But she refused to believe it, because if it didn't happen her heart would have broken. But I didn't know that when she got her letter.

I will NEVER forget the day she got that bloody letter. I remember it like it was yesterday, even now, when I've pretended to abandon all my memories of her. I was crestfallen. All my life I had wanted magic, and now my perfect little sister had it, and I didn't. That was when I started hating her. I've hated her ever since.

Thankfully I didn't have to see her anymore. I went to high school and made a lot of friends, and, for the first time in my life, people saw me for _myself_, instead of Lily's big sister. I guess it was a good thing that she went to that school, but I was too bitter to admit it. It was _me_ who should've gone there. It was _my_ dream, _my_ fantasy, _my_ wish, and _my_ little sister got it instead of me!

When she came back for summer vacation, Lily had changed. She was so...alive. She was so vibrant, so happy, so enthusiastic about life. She chattered all the time about how wonderful Hogwarts was and how many new friends she made and how well she fit in. It made me sick. I shut myself up in my room, talking on the phone all summer.

Then one summer, she brought someone with her to visit. I will never forget the first time I saw him. He was so...gorgeous. Black hair, gray eyes...I was in love. Everything about him, the way his hair went everywhere, his strong body, (I found out later it was from playing that....sport. Oh bloody hell, I won't pretend I don't know. Quidditch. I could never forget that name, though I would never admit it to anyone), the way he winked at me the instant he saw me, even his black glasses, was endearing. I didn't even care that he was a freak from That School.

But he was _Lily's_ friend. Lily's, not mine. Just like everything else I ever wanted. But I still worked hard to get him, even though I knew in the back of my head there wasn't a chance in hell that he would ever like me. I just refused to admit it. Instead, I flirted with him all summer...well, for the two weeks that he was there. Then I kept bothering Lily to get his phone number so I could call him.

They both seemed to find it absolutely hilarious that I liked him. James flirted with me shamelessly, and I thought I had him. Only a fool wouldn't have seen that he liked Lily, not me, but I was a fool. I thought it was jealously that made Lily give me a weird look every time I asked for his phone number. I ignored the gales of hysterical laughter I heard in the next room afterwards. It never occurred to me that wizards don't use telephones.

I fancied that he was asking Lily about me when he wrote to her, because they were constantly writing to each other. I dreamed that he was trying to get my number, too, but she was jealous and ignored his request like she ignored mine. Little did I know they were making fun of me behind my back the whole time.

The next summer, I found out. I was excited for weeks ahead because I thought I would get to see James again and he would confess his love to me and tell me how much he loved me. Of course, I knew Lily was going to his house soon afterwards to be with him and three other freak friends of hers - I forget their names, but one of them was almost as hot as James and one other was pretty damn cute - but it didn't matter to me. I just kept dreaming about him kissing me.

I spent hours ahead of time getting ready for him. I changed my hair, make up and clothes about a million times before I got it right. Before I went downstairs to meet him, I looked for the last time in the mirror.

I thought I looked perfect.

That was before I saw Lily and James walk up the driveway together. Even though she had just been on a train ride halfway across England, she still looked better than me. If possible, he looked even better than she did. But that wasn't the thing that broke my heart. They were holding hands. He opened the door for her. And every time he looked at her, his eyes softened. Softened! After all the times I had dreamed about him getting that look in his eyes when he looked at _me_, and they got it when he looked at _her!!_ And her eyes did the same thing whenever she looked at him!!

I wanted to be sick. I wanted to run up the stairs to my room and cry. I wanted to scream and yell and throw a temper tantrum and beat Lily to a bloody pulp. But I couldn't. They were already inside. And then James had the nerve to grin and wink at me! My insides melted, and I wanted to grin and blush like I usually did, but I couldn't. I wanted to cry.

Lily hit him when he did that, laughing. "Stop teasing her, James," she had said.

He had laughed, too, and kissed her on the cheek. That was the last straw. I felt like screaming, but I didn't. I turned and ran, all the way up to my room, and fell on the bed and cried for hours. When I finally stopped, I could hear people downstairs, laughing and talking. I was ignored, again. No one even came upstairs to tell me it was time for dinner. They just went on without me. I vowed never to come out of my room again.

Of course, I did come out. The first thing I did after I came out of my room was ask out that kid in math class who was always making eyes at me. His name was Vernon. He had brown hair, brown eyes, no glasses, absolutely no sense of humor and he was big and strong. But the thing that I loved the most about him was, he hated everything weird. He despised things that were different. In his mind, things that were all exactly the same were perfect. He was the exact opposite of James in every way. Perfect. When he asked me to marry him, I said yes.

At first, every time I looked at him I was bitter, wondering what it would be like if he was James instead. But in time, I grew to love him, I guess. Maybe it wasn't the perfect undying love I had for James, but love notheless. I learned to be happy with my life. I tried to forget Lily and her perfect boyfriend, who she married soon after she got out of That School. I forbade Vernon to ever speak of them. I never, ever, forgot them, or anything about them, but I acted like I did.

I had a son. Every time I looked at him, I saw perfect son he could have been. To make up for it, I spoiled him. I made myself believe I loved him, even though every time I looked at him I was disgusted. But, in time, I learned to love him just like I had learned to love Vernon. After all, he was _mine._ Not Lily's, not James', not some perfect movie star's, but _mine._ That in itself soon came to be enough for me.

Then one morning, I went to get the milk and I was greeted by a bundle of blankets with a head of messy black hair at the top. I screamed. The baby opened its eyes. They were Lily's eyes. I would've recognized those eyes anywhere. I screamed louder. His eyes swelled up with tears. Something mean and cruel inside me was satisfied, but only a little. It was so good to see Lily's eyes crying.

The kid had a letter from that weirdo...Dumbledore, his name was (another thing I would love to forget but can't), clutched in its hand. I read it. I found out that this was Harry. Harry Potter. The Harry Potter that could have been _my_ son. His parents were dead. I had to raise him. I should have been happy. I could finally raise James' son. But I wasn't happy. I was furious.

He was perfect, of course. Any son of James and Lily couldn't be anything else. He was smart and kind and loving and wonderful, no matter how horrible we were to him. As he got older, he looked more and and more like James. Every time I saw him, I saw James. Every time I looked in his eyes, my old hatred for Lily boiled up again. Every time I watched those eyes cry, every time I saw James miserable, I was happy. But never happy enough.

So I suppose it was my fault that he ended up having magic and going to That School and being famous. If I had been nicer to him, I guess he would have stayed. But I didn't want him to stay. I wanted to get him out of the house so I wouldn't have to deal with him. So he could get out of my life and things could go back to normal. I never told Vernon, of course. He wanted to beat the weirdness out of Harry, to make him stay, and thought violence was the best way to do it. I knew better, but I never said anything. I should've, I guess...but seeing him miserable was too satisfying. Seeing him happy would have made me hate the kid more. 

Harry's getting older. Every time he comes back I see a new depth in his eyes. I don't know what That School's doing to him. I don't know what he goes through. I don't want to know. I do know that he gets more and more mature. He's too old for his age. He probably thinks I don't notice, and if I do I don't care.

But I do care. I care more than I admit. No one, not even Lily's child, deserves the treatment he gets from Vernon and I. I know Vernon isn't the only one who does it. I do it too. I'm not as heartless as I act, though. But I don't say anything. Every time I think I should, I remember what James did to me. How he betrayed me. I look at him and I see James all over again.

And I say nothing.


End file.
